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When we wander back to the blanket, flowers cover almost every spare patch of fabric. Babs drops cross-legged onto the grass and starts weaving stems together. Beside her, Biddy crouches next to a golden retriever and holds a daisy in front of his nose.

“Come here, Sprout. It’ll suit you.”

Sprout flops onto his back with all four paws in the air. I laugh as I crouch beside him and scratch his stomach. “I think belly rubs win.”

“They always do,” Biddy says, smiling as his tail thumps against the grass. “He likes you.”

“I’ve always been hopeless around animals.” I run my fingers through the soft fur behind his ears. “Those ads with the sad dogs asking for donations get me every single time. I start crying before they’ve even explained what’s happened.”

Biddy looks up at me with complete understanding. “I cried when we watched that penguin movie.”

“The one where the baby gets lost?” I ask.

She nods so hard her curls bounce.

“I cried through that as well.”

Babs lets out an exaggerated groan and drops onto the blanket. “Everybody cries at them. That’s why they’re movies.”

Around us, people begin making their way toward the picnic tables with paper plates and plastic cutlery, and Babs finally looks up from her flower crown as if she’s only just realized lunch exists.

The twins each grab one of my hands and steer me toward the tables, with Lena falling into step beside us, grinning.”I don’t think you’re in charge of your own afternoon anymore.”

“I’m starting to suspect that.”

Almost every bench is full by the time we arrive. Babs claims one side, Biddy climbs onto the other, and they both look at the space between them.

“Do you want to sit with us?” Babs asks.

I slide onto the bench with my plate balanced on my knees as conversation spills from one table to the next. Children weave between benches with juice boxes, Sprout patrols hopefully beneath everyone’s feet, and somewhere behind me a heated debate breaks out over whether barbecue sauce belongs on chips.

Nobody’s talking about deadlines or meetings. They’re swapping stories, stealing fries, arguing over recipes and laughing so easily that I find myself doing the same before I’ve even noticed.

A glass of iced tea appears beside my plate. “Is this seat taken?”

I look up at an elegant woman with silver threaded through dark hair.

Babs shuffles along the bench and pats the space beside her. “You can sit here, Grandma Mara.”

Grandma.

I look up at the woman again, and the pieces finally click into place.

This is Bane’s mother.

I’d pictured the family of a billionaire CEO as polished, intimidating, impossible to relax around. Instead she sits beside me, reaches across the table before she’s even picked up her own fork and steals one of Biddy’s fries.

Biddy stops chewing. “That was mine.”

“I know.” Without missing a beat, Mara drops two chips onto Biddy’s plate. “There. Now you’re ahead.”

Biddy studies the exchange like she’s balancing a set of accounts, then nods. “That’s fair.”

I laugh.

“They negotiate everything,” Mara says, smiling as she offers me her hand. “I’m Mara.”

“Emma. It’s lovely to meet you.”